


When the Fine Line Blurs

by clarissa_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bearded Steve Rogers, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark!Steve Rogers - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mind Control, Nomad Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Vaginal Fingering, Yum, crazy steve - Freeform, dark!steve rogers x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarissa_writes/pseuds/clarissa_writes
Summary: Undercover as husband and wife for over six months, reality begins to blur for Steve Rogers.orSteve is convinced you’re meant to be husband and wife and takes it upon himself to make you see that.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 416





	When the Fine Line Blurs

“When this is all over, I’ll help you move your things into my room. We can tell the team together.”

There’s a soft air of happiness in his voice, 

“They’ll be happy for us.”

You froze, quickly lifting your eyes from your laptop screen to stare at the bulky blonde. He had his back turned from you, his hands busying themselves at the counter as he chopped some tomatoes. It was his turn to cook tonight, and so you were sitting at the dining table keeping him company. 

It was routine; everyday you’d switch, same thing for other chores.

You figured you’d get the mission reports done as you wait. Tonight was your last day undercover, after all. Six months of being Mrs. Elizabeth Evans had been tough. You're glad it was all over now and the suspects were detained. Trying to gather intel was trickier this time around, hence the prolonged mission.

At your silence, Steve looks over his shoulder with a dazzling smile,

“We can start looking for houses when things settle in. We don’t want to rush things, do we?”

_Okay, what the fuck?_

Your brows pushed together in confusion. If this was his way of getting your attention, then shit, he surely had it now. You shake your head, moving to shut your laptop as you continued to stare at him.

“What? Steve, what are you-”

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart. We’ll let your parents know in person first thing tomorrow. It’s only proper to. If we’re going to get married, they need to like me.”

By now, Steve had turned away and started to chop the onions. You could only gape after him as his words sunk in. Was this a joke? It had to be, right? _Marriage_? Was he really suggesting that? There was no way he was seriously considering marriage. You weren't even dating, for fucks sake.

“Steve, what the fuck are you going on about? Marriage? Is this some kind of jo-”

You’re about to go on a rampage of questions, but the sound of his palm slamming into the counter stops you short. Your eyes widen by the fraction as you watch him. Fear trickles into your veins like a stream. The shift in the kitchen is palpable. You could taste the tension on your tongue. You’re afraid to take you eyes off him. Afraid to even blink. He was acting irrational, and God only knows what kind of havoc Captain America could create when he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He’s standing stock still, but you make no move to say anything or get up. You’re afraid. You don’t want to aggravate him more than he already was. He didn’t say anything but just from how his body grew firm and taut, you knew he was angry. Fucking hell, what was going on? Steve’s thick shoulders are hunched, his powerful back muscles bulging from the shirt he’s wearing. 

His strength is obvious. All he needed to do was squeeze and he’d break your neck. It was that simple. You couldn't hope to outrun him, to trick him- he’d catch up to you in a second. Maybe then, your attempt would be so insulting that he’d kill you off instead of whatever it is he’s planning.

“_____,”

Unlike his body language, Steve’s voice is soft with a tinge of affection,

“You know I don’t like it when you cuss.”

Slowly, Steve turns around until he’s facing you. Blazing blue eyes meet yours, and you have to resist the urge to look away. The overwhelming weight of his gaze intimidates you. It’s like he’s forcing you into submission just by staring. You want to fight back, to yell, but you _can't_. Not when he looks that imposing leaning against the counter and his lips pressed in a thin, grim line.

Your lips part,

“I-I-”

The soldier raises a brow- a meaningful, _expectant_ brow - and then suddenly you blurt it out,

“I’m sorry.”

In an instant, the storm brewing in his eyes fade away back into crystal blues. He smiles, 

“It’s okay, baby. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

Unable to find your voice, you give him a stiff nod. Thankfully the gesture was enough for Steve to turn away again and continue his cooking.

You don’t say a word throughout dinner.

* * *

You suppose it could be your fault. 

Maybe you were too focused, too _convincing_. 

But that was the point, wasn't it? That’s why you were chosen. You were picked for this mission to convince people of your false identity so well that they wouldn’t have questioned it. You made it look believable. You played the part of Steve’s wife so perfectly, the man had deluded himself into believing it. It hadn’t even crossed your mind until now. That chance of Steve Rogers, _Captain America_ , falling for you under the guise of husband and wife. 

Surely, Steve had other missions like this. Missions where he had to play someone else for a long period of time. You thought he understood what that meant- what that _entailed_. Apparently, you thought wrong.

Any kisses shared or any kind of “PDA” was done in front of people or in public, for the sake of keeping up appearances. You never worried about wandering hands, because _hello_ , this was Steve fucking Rogers. Captain America, the man with the moral compass. The embodiment of good and freedom. Who was going to think that he’d be anything but a gentleman with his 40s sensibilities? Other female operatives who worked with him in a similar fashion all spoke - rather disappointedly - of the fact that Steve hadn’t made a move outside the mission. He was completely work driven and any attempts to make the cover _real,_ had been warded off. 

“Babydoll, what’s wrong?”

You flinch, quickly sitting up from where you were leaning into the bedframe. You were sitting in bed, taking your place on the left side like you always did for the past few months, just waiting for Steve to come in. You two had shared a room for the mission, and it never posed to be a problem. You both knew you had boundaries, never going for anything further than when you woke up snuggling with one another. Outside of publicity control, you hardly ever touched one another.

And yet, here you were wearing the same clothes instead of your nightie because you were afraid of enticing the so-called hero who had the sudden desire to marry you. 

“Nothing.”

You tell him. It’s a lie. There’s a lot of things _wrong_ with this situation, but you can’t tell him that. You swallow, licking your lips in nervousness. Big mistake. Steve watched the way the tip of your tongue slid through the opening of your lips with such concentration you felt embarrassed. You looked away, realizing Steve was shirtless and focused on the pattern on the duvet. 

Your fingers toyed with the frills, hoping Steve would just slip in and go to sleep. When he doesn’t say anything or move, you carefully look up,

“Why aren’t you wearing your nighty?”

Steve steps forward and leans to pull away the blanket. It felt as though he was stripping you of your shield, but you keep strong. You don’t scram away like you want to. Instead, you sit there and watch as he reaches out to touch your neck. 

His long, thick fingers begins to graze the curve of your throat, almost caressing it. It felt nice, but far too intimate. Everywhere he touched, fire was left scorching a path.

“I-I um, it’s colder tonight. I’d freeze if I wore it.”

It’s a pathetic excuse, but it’s an excuse nonetheless.

“Don’t be silly. Later on, you’ll be too hot in that. Go change.”

When you’re about to protest, he cuts you a look,

“Wear the white one. It’s my favorite.” 

Like the obedient housewife you played, you listen to him. You get up, walk over him and to the dresser to pull out the white, silk nightie with cute little ribbons as the straps that tied it together. You clench the fabric in your hand, but let go a moment later in fear you might rip it, and was about to dart to the bathroom when Steve’s voice stops you,

“Change.”

He says softly,

“Right here.”

He can’t be serious.

This was crazy.

There’s no way this was actually happening to you right now. You look into his eyes in the dim room, the only light coming from the moon slipping through the blinds. If you weren’t afraid of him and he wasn’t insane, you’d take a second to marvel at his beauty. Blonde whisks sat messily on top of his head, with his smooth, pale, inviting skin stretching over hard muscles and bulging biceps. He was a living adonis- your crazy, _delusional_ , adonis.

You search for anything in his eyes that will tell you he was joking, but you find none. His eyes are hard, azure shades unwavering. With the last of your pride, you set the nightie down. Carefully, your trembling hands move to the hem of your shirt and ever so slowly began to tug up.

Steve had to hold himself back from taking over. He wanted to be the one peeling every layer of clothing off your body, but he had to give you time to adjust. Every inch of skin exposed to him managed to rile him up. _More, more, more_. He wanted to see more. So much more.

It wasn’t always like this.

 _He_ wasn’t always like this.

When he’d first been assigned the job, he thought nothing of it. Just another operation, but a bit longer. He wasn’t always good at lying; Nat was a testament to that, but after mission after mission where he had to play someone else (he’d played a cop, divorcee, college professor…) he got used to it. He learned to put on a mask.

Then he was paired off with you.

Meek.

Quiet.

Strong.

Beautiful.

Steve fell hard. He fell _hard_. He had planned on keeping his feelings hidden. He’d planned on playing his part to the end and then maybe ask you out for coffee when things were over. Then one particular night, when you two were having dinner with your neighbors (who were the targets), you’d leaned into his side, slid a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him,

_“I love you.”_

You said it so breathily against his lips. Your voice so warm and sweet like honey. Electricity zapped through him, and in that moment, Steve knew it. You felt the same. No matter how good you were at lying, you couldn't just _lie_ about it like that. You couldn't fake that sort of emotion that bled into your words. 

You loved him.

You _love_ him.

You said so yourself.

By the time you had stripped off your shirt, you cussed in the back of your mind. You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were hard from the chill. You make a move to cover yourself, but Steve shakes his head. He licks his lips, eyes falling to your breasts with fire flaring in his belly,

“Your pants.”

He breathlessly orders.

God, you could feel tears sting your eyes. 

You hook your thumbs around your jeans and tug down, slipping the fabric off one leg at a time. When you were nude except for your underwear, you quickly bend and reach for your nightwear. When you stand straight, you stop breathing.

Your back pressed against something warm and solid. Lips latched onto your neck and began to suck. Steve’s teeth nipped at your skin before lapping up the same spot in apology. You arched your back, groaning when a big hand wandered up to cup your breast. You had to fight back. You had to. You couldn’t just let this happen. 

The fight you tried to conjure up dwindled when his other hand slid down the band of your underwear. Searching fingers wiggled around until they met the bundle he was looking for. You gasped, knees wobbling as he rubbed,

“That feel good, Sweetheart?”

Trying to keep your voice down, you bit on your lip and shut your eyes. It seems Steve didn’t like that. The hand that had been fondling with your breast reaches up and pulls on your chin gently, just so that your lip would come free from your teeth,

“No, none of that. I want to hear everything.”

“Steve, I- you can’t-”

Steve presses down on your clit harder, stopping you from getting another word out. He smiles, laying kisses over your temple as he kept his hand around your neck,

“I _can_. You’re my wife, _____. My perfect little wife. Shouldn’t a husband spoil his wife?”

  
With one last kiss to your cheek, he grips onto your waist and spins you around. Your front meets his chest, breasts pressing up against his skin. It’s fucking _mortyfying_. Steve holds you steady in his arms, even when you begin to squirm in panic and easily lifts you up by the ass. You’ve no choice but to hold on, locking your legs around his waist as he walks you two to the bed. The entire time you can feel his hot length pressing against your center. It’s straining in his pajamas, begging for attention. 

Each time he moved, you unconsciously rubbed against his cock. The quiet groans slipping under his breath only arouses you. You can feel the wetness in your underwear. Your cunt is slick with need, burning at the center with the desire to be filled and fucked and-

No _. No._

Shame fills you as you turn away from those thoughts. When he reaches the foot of the mattress, Steve gently tosses you in the middle and hovers over you before you have the chance to get away. His arms lock you in, one on each side of you. His lower half pins you to the mattress and suddenly he’s leaning in and captures your lips with his in one swoop.

You were enjoying this.

Why the _fuck_ were you enjoying this?

“Look at you,”

Steve coos, cupping your mound through your underwear with sparkling eyes and a fascinated smile,

“You’re so wet for me. So ready. You want it just as badly as I do. Don’t you, doll?”

You shake your head, whimpering when he tears off the thin barrier.

“Tell me, ____. Tell me you want this.”

_Resist. Resist. Resist-_

  
“I _don’t_ -”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He slides a finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out. The squelch of your wetness rings in your ears and you turn away as heat creeps up your skin. Steve doesn’t stop, only goes on to add another finger before pressing a softer kiss on your lips,

“You want me, _____. And that’s okay. It’s normal to want your husband.”

It was as if a sudden surge came over you. Anger crashed into your senses, and before you could stop yourself to think of your actions through, you glare at him and bite out,

“You are _not_ my husband.” 

The declaration echoes off the walls. It grows silent. The fingers he’s been pumping in and out of you halt, and your walls flutter, seeking more to no avail. The blonde removes his fingers, tricking you into believing that maybe you knocked some sense into him. Maybe your blatant rejection had him seeing light.

You were wrong. 

Steve pushes himself up, sitting on his heels and grabs hold of your thighs. In one fluid movement, he spread you apart, settling himself in the middle and ignored your yelp when he tugs down his pajama bottoms. 

“No,”

He grits out,

“I’m not your husband.”

You’re confused laying there, your breathing hard and short when you see him grab hold of his girth. You knew if you considered his proportions, he would naturally be big. But you didn’t expect this.

“-but I will be.”

Steve grinds against you, rubbing his length between your soaked folds. Everytime he withdrew, he bumped your clit, sending sparks of pleasure tingling down your spine. It felt so good. It felt too good. Your mind was quickly losing its wits. After a few more strokes, Steve slowly fed you his cock, inch by inch, up until your hips met his pelvis.

The utter thickness of him had you speechless. It had you reeling in from the burst of pleasure. Your head threw back against the pillows, back arching up beautifully as he impaled you with his size. A new kind of fullness awakened inside you. The delicious burn of him stretching you to accommodate his size- to _accept_ him, had your mind going blank. You never experienced anything like this.

Nothing mattered anymore.

You needed him to _move_.

“ _Fuck_ -”

You moaned, whining as your head lolled to the side. Steve pulled his hips back, slowly dragging his cock from inside you, only to push back in. With a squeal, you clenched your hands around the sheets. You wanted to shut your eyes and look away. To pretend you didn’t like this. But the brutal, punishing pace Steve set prevented you to.

“I told you I didn’t like it when you swear, Sweetheart.”

Steve cupped your jaw, running the pad of his thumb across your lip as he made you look at him,

“I need to keep this filthy mouth distracted, don’t I?”

Pressing his thumb against your lips, you quickly got the message and allowed him to push it in. Unabashedly, you swirled your tongue around and sucked, alternating in between. Eye contact was kept the whole time, and neither of you looked away. If anything, it encouraged Steve to thrust harder, pinning you down by the way he fucked you into the mattress. 

The sound of flesh clapping against flesh had been so filthy, so arousing, you felt yourself grow tight. The coil in your body was winding up. You knew you were climbing toward your peak. By the looks of it, Steve was following close behind judging by the way his expression had drawn tight. 

“That’s it,”

Steve moaned, giving you another grind when he pulled his hand from your jaw. He slid his fingers down, roaming over your chest to your stomach, all the way to where you two connected before settling on your clit,

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you love me.”

The answering groan from his command isn’t enough to satisfy him. Abruptly, he stops moving. His cock stops plunging into you, his fingers stop playing with your clit. You open your eyes in frustration, the loss of your impending orgasm bringing you to near tears,

“Steve-”

“Say it.”

A beat goes by. And then another.

“I’m yours.”

You gasp out,

“I love you-”

He doesn’t waste a second before thrusting back into you. He goes harder this time, almost animalistic by the way he takes you senselessly. There’s no caution in the way he takes you, no ounce of gentleness. 

It’s rough, it’s quick and it’s _filthy_. 

The bed frame bumps into the wall so much, you worry it’ll break. Even that doesn’t stop your husban- _Steve_ , from taking what he wants. The earlier fervour and urgency returns along with the quick work of his fingers over your bud. In an instant you’re tensing up again, the build up to your release coming up quick when Steve catches your moan in his mouth. You’re helpless but to return his kiss, eagerly meeting his tongue with yours.

Steve presses his forehead against yours when he pulls away,

“Come for me, wife.”

And you do.

Liquid warmth spills into you as you come with a choked cry. Convulsing around his cock, Steve holds himself up to make sure he doesn’t crush you under his weight. Just like you, he’s covered in sweat, but he’s looking down to where you’re still connected. 

He enjoys the final pulses of your cunt, relishes the way you’re still so desperate for him even after reaching your completion. Slowly, he begins to pull out and with a smile, looks at you.

“We’re going to be so happy.”

He tells you. You’re too weak to respond, but you watch as he swipes his fingers at your entrance. He’s catching his seed before slowly pushing it back in,

“We’re going to be so happy,”

He repeats fondly,

“All three of us.”


End file.
